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Old 11-07-2007, 12:47 AM   #1
TaciturnBadger
 
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Default Hunt of the Fat Jedi VI-VIII - by Taciturn Badger (~BHM, ~BBW, ~Sex,Adventure, ~XWG))

~BHM, ~BBW, ~Sex, Adventure, ~XWG - A super-sized version of Star Wars!

The Hunt of the Fat Jedi Parts VI
by Taciturn Badger

(Click here for prior installments)

Part VI

Last night he had opened himself up to Farrah, which was a risk. He knew it to be, but at the same token, the Force had brought them together for a reason. He was not meant to know what that reason was yet, otherwise it would have been made clear; but it had seemed so right at the time that he had succumbed. And it still felt right, felt right with his mind, heart, and stomach.

She had come to terms with her desires, and why her past relationships were rife with disinterest, and found him in the process. The way they had connected while he was inside her was incredible, as if she had touched him through the Force while they laid entwined. While on the Jedi council, he had seen cases of extreme emotional feelings triggering an awakening to the Force, although the thought of their lovemaking sparking her awareness seemed preposterous.

But was it, truly? What was there to falsify the possibility?

The thought swam through his mind as his spoon swam through the melting second scoop. Regardless of her awareness, it had been a truly electrifying experience. Farrah had really let her inhibitions go, freeing herself of societal decrees and public perceptions, allowing herself to focus on the gems of what was stored within. It had been her lust for a larger man, yes; an acceptance and understanding of her fascination with fat, her desire to feel him in her, on her, and help him grow to be as large as he would be, and finally acting on what she had been holding back for so long.

Click!

He halted in mid step, causing a number of people to alter their walking paths around his girth. That was it! She had freed her mind, faced the discipline, indulged in it, and returned to control afterwards. All the signs were there, the emotion, the acceptance, the peace. No longer was she fighting with herself for something she did not understand; she had accepted herself for who she was, freed herself from her own thoughts, born again with her true desires and the whims of the Force.

This changes things, he thought.

Kyrren tossed the cup from the dessert into a nearby refuse receptacle, and was debating on going back for another pair of scoops when he felt a presence five meters behind him that was less than friendly. He continued down the street as though nothing had changed, taking a quick turn down an alleyway not much wider than himself.

The presence he felt turned into the alleyway with him, and Kyrren waited for several meters before he turned and confronted the shadow. He recognized the Devaronian from the cantina yesterday, sitting near where Yilts had sat today.

“Help you with something?” Kyrren asked.

“No Corellian Security investigator gets to see our bounties and live,” it gurgled, surprisingly in Basic. “Yilts sends his regards and his compliments on betraying his trust.”

“I’m not Corellian Security,” he said. “They don’t have anybody my size doing field work.”

“A clever disguise he was most impressed with. Your blubber-flesh disguise was good enough to pass Heeng’s check.”

Kyrren found himself staring, open-mouthed at the Devaronian assassin. Was he honestly trying to claim that he was not fat? After where the Rodian had probed, that was downright insulting.

“Good day, Security,” the Devaronian gurgled, reaching quite quickly for a concealed blaster.

Still absorbed in abject shock, Kyrren had little time to do much more than reach a hand out and pull the thug towards him through the Force. Not expecting such a maneuver, the Devaronian pitched forwards, crashing into his belly and crumpling to the street in a heap.

“This gut is real, thank you very much!” He paused for a moment, judging his next actions by what the assassin would attempt to do. When it reached for the blaster again, Kyrren concentrated, reaching out to unhook his lightsaber and ignite it. The bright blue blade extended, cauterizing a perfect hole three centimeters in diameter straight through the attacker’s throat before he extinguished it almost immediately.

“Sith spit,” he muttered. He hated pointless killing.

Kyrren glanced around him, checking to see if there were any witnesses to the death. Finding none, he continued down the alley, having too much experience to come out the way he came in. If the Devaronian had any friends along for the ride, they’d be waiting there for backup. He just had to hope he could get out of sight before any friends he did bring along entered the alleyway to check on the assassination attempt.

* * *

Back on the Illicit Investment, Kyrren had already told Farrah and Dobo Chah about what had happened in the cantina, including the complete lack of an Exchange bounty for himself and the almost bored interest in the open Sith bounty on Jedi.

“Sounds like a good place to hole up for a while,” Dobo suggested. “Not much of an Exchange presence, no bounties on your head. Good deal.”

Much to Kyrren’s surprise, Farrah nodded. “That’d be nice, for a change, you know, not getting shot at.”

Surprised that Farrah would abandon the thoughts of returning to her home on Telos with no hesitation, he blinked at her. “Just out of curiosity, what was your loan with the Exchange for?”

Her face flushed slightly. “Umm, a ticket off Telos.”

Oh. “Let me guess.. you paid the spacer, he told you to meet you at the docking bay, you get there, and he’s gone?”

She nodded. “That about sums it up, yeah.”

“Well isn’t that ironic,” he chuckled. “So you’re up to staying here for a while until the heat blows over?”

Farrah looked around the main hold of the ship, seemingly realizing what she had agreed to. “I don’t see any reason why not. I was trying to get off Telos anyway, and I don’t really see any other alternative.”

Kyrren nodded. “Then it’s settled. But I don’t want to be quite so close to that cantina. Can you give us a lift to Coronet?”

Dobo glanced up from his datapad. “The capital? I thought you were going for low-profile?”

Kyrren grinned. “Haven’t you ever heard of hiding in plain sight? The more populous the area, the greater the chances of getting lost in the crowd. Plus, the greater chance of landing an apartment vacancy immediately.”

Dobo shrugged his acceptance. “Good points. I’ll have Frez start the takeoff process.”

Farrah waited until the pilot left the main hold to address Kyrren. “What are we going to do?”

“The same thing everybody else does – get a job, pay rent, and just live.”

“And to think I was leaving Telos for a better life,” she muttered.

“You did,” he grinned. “You learned something about yourself.”

That seemed to brighten Farrah’s mood, and she moved to sit next to him, placing her hand on his belly, smiling at the minute vibrations working their way through it as the ship lifted off. “This is true. I did. Which reminds me, I managed to get a few truffles made while you were out.”

Kyrren looked at the tray she had brought over from the table. “Well if you aren’t becoming quite the chef,” he said, taking one and popping it in his mouth. Velvety and sweet, he closed his eyes and enjoyed the cascade of flavors. “Delicious.”

The flash of red lights and erupting klaxon alarm interrupted his reverie.

“What is that?” she shrieked over the screech of the alarm.

“Lock-on alert,” he replied, hauling himself to his feet and making his way towards the cockpit. “Get yourself strapped into a flight seat and tighten the crash webbing. Go!”

The cockpit was a dazzling array of lights and readouts, all of which seemed to be displaying negative information at an alarming rate. Dobo was frantically pressing buttons with one hand, controlling the yoke with the other, calling out in a voice scratchy with urgency.

“Three snub fighters on our tail. Full power to the rear deflector shields!’

Frez warbled something in response and made to get up.

“I’ll take the turrets,” Kyrren said, holding a hand out to stop the Duros copilot.

Frez squeaked.

“Yes, both of them.” He sat down in one of the seats, sliding the chair sideways to position himself directly in between the two turret controls. The Investment’s turrets were directly on the sides of the ship, one port and one starboard, allowing fire coverage to almost any angle.

“Don’t worry about him!” Dobo yelled at Frez. “He can handle the guns. Trust me.”

Thankfully, the Investment’s fire control systems were identical to the ones that were installed whenever Kyrren had flown on board, years ago. He turned the monitors to face him, his left eye watching the port cannon, left hand grasping one side of the control yoke; right eye watching the starboard cannon, right hand grasping its yoke. He closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and splitting his consciousness, letting his brain do the work.

“Bring me my truffles,” he said, his tone flat from concentration. As the fighters closed to weapons range, he worked the turrets, blasting salvos of fire in between the ships to scatter the formation and break up their assault. Frez crooned something from behind him.

“Do it!” Dobo called out.

Having scattered the fighters, the three smaller passes of laser fire were absorbed harmlessly by the ship’s focused deflector shields. Working silently now, the old war companions acting as one consciousness, Kyrren didn’t even need to tell Dobo to adjust the deflectors to match their changed trajectories. It was already done.

Though the information swarming Kyrren’s mind was enough to overwhelm the typical person, he had already separated his mind, which now sat, detached, watching what was happening with idle curiosity and waiting for the truffles, while his body simply reacted, fueled by visual signals and the Force. He had learned, long before the Mandalorian Wars, that thinking with your mind about what was going on in combat slowed your reactions down significantly. Simply letting your body do what it knows how to do was much faster, and allowed for impressive displays of skill.

Such as controlling two separate fire turrets at once.

Frez reached delicately around the monitors, placing the dish of truffles down between them and backing away, glancing over his shoulder and whispering in awe at Kyrren’s abilities.

Their formation scattered, the pilots proved to have more talent than one would have assumed, juking around the blasters that were nicking their airfoils. Several times, Kyrren was certain he had a direct shot on one of the fighters, but they rolled out of the way a split-second before impact.

Kyrren’s mind levitated a truffle over and deposited it neatly in his mouth, wondering what it was these pilots were doing to avoid each and every single shot he fired. The more he thought about it, the less it all made sense, unless they truly were crack pilots.

Suddenly, the solution rang clear. He stopped firing altogether. He felt Dobo’s eyes on his back, sensed the nervousness in the room, but also the trust in his skill. The three fighters finished the pass they were on, swooping in front of the ship and returning to their triangular formation. Kyrren watched the displays, watched them turn around to come back at the Investment. The trio of blips came closer in his vision, split between the two monitors, and then..

Now!

He squeezed both triggers, the port and starboard turret fire converging on the fighter in front. Suddenly without room to maneuver without colliding with the other ships, the fighter had little choice but to take the laser fire straight in the canopy.

Only able to see what was on the display, he saw the blip disappear in a haze of static, but knew what had happened – the converged blast, laser bolts striking at the same spot at the same time with Jedi precision, overpowered the fighter’s weak deflector shields and detonated inside the canopy.

The blast, enough to destroy the fighter’s control and kill the pilot, was not enough to cause the fuselage and wings of the fighter to explode, and it spun out of control, colliding with the fighter to its right and severely damaging its wings. Dobo rolled the Investment to its right sharply, allowing the two falling fighters to pass underneath. Kyrren floated another truffle to his mouth, letting the sweet flavor overwrite the disappointment at being unable to converge the final salvo of laser fire he pelted into the remaining fighter, who had rolled to the side to clear the explosion, and would not have any time to evade as the Investment streaked past.

The battle display chimed and switched from red to green, indicating the destruction of all hostile vessels in sensor range.

Dobo and Frez erupted in a cheer, punching the atmospheric ion drives to full throttle, speeding the ship towards the capital city of Coronet.

Frez warbled, and Dobo clapped him on the shoulder. “Two turrets and dessert at the same time. Never underestimate a fat Jedi!”

Farrah stepped into the cockpit a moment later. “What happened? I heard some explosions and a bunch of laser fire.”

Dobo jumped into the explanation, taking advantage of Kyrren’s mouth otherwise occupied with a truffle. “What happened is our weighty weaponmaster wiped out three short-range fighters while eating your candies. Not only that, but he worked both port and starboard turrets at the same time!”

Frez warbled his approval.

Farrah looked over at Kyrren, still seated at the fire control station between the two monitors. “Is that even possible? I thought port and starboard pointed in opposite directions.”

“They do!” Dobo laughed. “And one of the ships took a blast straight in the cockpit. Somehow he managed to hit him with both turrets in the exactexact same time.” He thumped the control console twice to further emphasize the word ‘exact.’

Farrah blinked at Kyrren, who simply shrugged. “Someone had to fly it,” he said, dismissing the conversation with a wave of his hand. “As long as we’re on our way now. I just wish I knew who sent them after us. Might give me a little more peace of mind.”

Frez punched a few buttons, pulling up the sensor records of the fighter’s IFF codes – the Identification Friend or Foe code used to determine whether or not a ship was hostile – and crooned something a moment later.

Dobo slapped his forehead with the palm of his hand. “That’s my problem, guys, sorry.”

Kyrren raised an eyebrow in question.

“Uh, jealous hyperdive dealers.”

“Remind me to stay out of your line of work,” Farrah muttered. “How much longer till we get to Coronet? I’d rather like to have solid ground under my feet again.”

* * *

Kyrren Mak and Farrah stood on the street outside one of Coronet’s starports, watching the ion drives of the Illicit Investment burn bright as it sped off into the atmosphere towards its next destination.

“So now what do we do?” Farrah asked, suddenly realizing their lodging status now that Dobo Chah and Frez had flown off to other parts of the galaxy.

“Don’t worry. I’ve got a plan.” He led her to a nearby hovercar for hire, giving directions to head deeper into Coronet’s heart. Farrah’s eyes were glued to the viewport, watching durasteel and ferrocrete structures larger than her eyes could see zip past. The architecture became more ornate and detailed, the materials used in the construction of the buildings moving from drab grey to a more beautiful ivory, catching and reflecting the rainbow of colored lights dancing as they passed. It was painfully obvious that he was taking them to the very, very high-class heart of the capital.

The hovercar pulled to a stop beside an particularly busy structure, the walls painted to look like ivory and edged in synthetic onyx. “What’s this?”

The hovercar rocked comically when Kyrren exited, the repulsorlifts straining to return the car to level.

“The Thousand Crystals. Galaxy-class resort hotel. The home away from home for ridiculously rich bureaucrats and politicians everywhere. And, to boot, the place of employment of some of the best flair chefs in twenty systems.”

Farrah’s eyebrows shot up as she exited to stand next to Kyrren, absentmindedly wrapping her arm around his back and tracing her fingers over the soft roll on his side. She was familiar with flair chefs, having watched a number of their videos on the HoloNet – standing directly in front of the customers, cooking with dozens of witnesses demanding razors-edge precision. If that weren’t nerve-jangling enough, they came demanding more than a meal of galactic delicacies, they came for a show. Flair chefs were famous for flipping ingredients, twirling knives sharp as vibroblades, cutting ingredients in midair, spinning utensils and tossing morsels into eagerly waiting mouths.

“And just what do flair chefs have to do with us right now?” she asked, eyebrow quirked.

He grinned at her. “Well, we have to have a source of income to acquire an apartment. I’m going to be one.”

Even after being with Kyrren for the short period of time that she had, very little should have surprised her at this point. Instead, she was surprised.

“What, you’re just going to walk into there and get hired as a flair chef? These people study and practice for years before even getting an audition!”

He started in, pulling an open-mouthed Farrah behind him. “Never underestimate a fat Jedi, Farrah. I thought you would have gotten that one by now!” he chuckled.

The interior of the hotel was far grander than the outside, filled with vaulted ceilings and exotic crystal inlays from all around the galaxy. Once inside, seeing the patrons, she felt suddenly self-conscious and horribly underdressed. Not a single item of clothing was worn that she could see that did not have some form of precious metal, stone, or crystal embedded in it, many of the outfits likely costing enough to pay her rent on Telos for close to a standard year.

Kyrren led the way deeper inside, seemingly unfazed by the ostentatious luxury surrounding them. Without so much as consulting a sign, he arrived a moment later at the entrance to the resort’s flair restaurant. There was a podium outside, and a Bith dressed in all-white stood greeting the arrivals.

“Welcome to The Dancing Daggers. How many will be in your party this evening?” the host inquired in perfect, unaccented Basic; an impressive task for a Bith.

“None. I’m here to see the owner about the chef’s position.”

The host blinked, obviously taken aback. “I am unaware of any auditions taking place today. Let me consult with the owner.”

He pushed a small button on the monitor, communicating not with words, but via keyboard for privacy. Kyrren stood patiently, waiting for a response and looking around the hotel. Farrah couldn’t help but feel they were somehow doing something illegal.

Several minutes later, an Ithorian – short for his race, but still taller than both Kyrren and Farrah – stepped outside the restaurant and up to the podium. “I understand you are here about the chef’s position?”

“That’s correct. I understand you’re in need of flair talent of an extremely demanding skill level.”

The Ithorian wobbled its long, curved head, their species’ form of a nod. “I had not planned for any auditions today..” he trailed off.

“I assure you I won’t need to take much of your time.” Farrah caught his choice of words, planting seeds of confidence and control into the owner’s mind. “And I am certain you will be impressed.”

A subtle, almost unnoticeable waggle of his fingers accompanied the tail end of his sentence. The owner pondered the offer briefly, then motioned for Kyrren and Farrah to follow him into the restaurant through a cleverly hidden employee door.

The employee passage, in stark contrast to the rest of the resort, was bare white. The lighting which seemed warm and comforting while waiting outside the restaurant turned harsh and bright, conveying feelings similar to that of being in a medical ward. Several doors into the hallway, the Ithorian stopped to open one, holding it for them to enter. Farrah couldn’t help but feel a small bubble of warmth within her when Kyrren stepped through before her, having to angle himself slightly to fit through the narrow door.

Inside the room, which appeared to have been specially laid out for training and auditioning, a long, rectangular griddle sat next to a preparation counter in a tight L-shape. Facing the grill and preparation station was a raised counter, with bar-style seating to allow customers to dine and watch close up in comfort.

“I must apologize that this will not be a true test of your skills, as the grill is not pre-heated and many ingredients are not stocked in the training room full time. I regret to say that this will, in actuality, be even more difficult as you will be extremely limited in what you have onhand.” Removing a datapad, he made a few pokes and held it out to Kyrren. “This is just a formality, but please hand-print the liability waiver, in case you injure yourself during the demonstration.”

Kyrren did so, and satisfied, the Ithorian sat on one of the chairs, facing the griddle. He gestured for Farrah to sit on the prep table side. Kyrren took a few moments to take inventory of what tools the station had, where the various ingredients and spices were kept, and where the mixing bowls and other goods were. And suddenly, without warning or preamble, he began.

A head of Corellian lettuce popped up, Kyrren’s head still out of view where he was bent over. A split second later, a long knife shot up from out of sight to embed itself perfectly in the stem of the lettuce, turning over slowly to come down into his hand as he righted himself. Placing a bowl on the prep table, he drew another knife from the block, holding it under the lettuce blade-up and spinning the handle of the knife, filling the bowl with long, narrow shreds of just the tips of the lettuce leaves, which were the leafiest and most flavorful parts on the variety he was shredding. Once he was done with the head, he plopped the now-flattened top of it upside-down on the prep table cutting board, the knife wedged in the stem standing straight up and gleaming. Seemingly from nowhere, Kyrren produced a flavorful root from the Onderon system and tossed it in the air, twirling the knife he had been shredding the lettuce with and sending it flying towards the root from behind his back. He had a casual, almost careless manner, with a bored expression on his face, providing the air that this was simply a warm-up.

The knife he spun behind his back arced towards the root, plunging its tip deep into the vegetable and turning to fall root-and-tip first towards the cutting board. As if to play up the tension, Kyrren waved his hand in front of his mouth in the human expression of a yawn, rotating his hand to catch the knife handle and begin dicing the root at the exact instant it would have otherwise impacted the board in a very bad display of knife care.

Farrah’s eyebrows shot up. She knew that Kyrren was a lot of things, but a practiced flair chef had not been one of them. He nodded to the Ithorian – a flair chef’s signal that he would be tossing a morsel towards them, upon receiving an approving response – and picked up one of the diced root pieces on the tip of his knife, turning away from the Ithorian to face the prep table, reaching around behind his back to flick the blade, the root piece landing neatly in the mouth of the Ithorian facing Kyrren.

Farrah blinked and forced her jaw to remain shut. Ithorians had two narrow, shallow mouths, one on each side of their long, flat head. Aiming a piece of root from behind the back without looking to a mouth located in an unusual place was definitely a demanding trick, and as she watched the owner’s eyes widen in surprise, she knew that he had been impressed as well.

Kyrren diced a few more vegetables in similar fashion, pouring each of them into the bowl with the lettuce, adding a dash of oil and vinegar to provide some liquid and flavor. Then he removed a box of rather large berries, labeled the knn’la berry – she couldn’t make out the stamp with the planet of origin on them – each of which was the size of a small egg. Taking a handful in one hand, and three small paring knives in the other, he began to juggle.

She watched as he expertly spun the knives and berries in a cluttered circle, at first simply moving around, but then noticed as the pattern of just the berries changed, and as the knives flashed through the air, each of the berries was sliced, one by one, cleanly in half and landed in the bowl.

Without touching anything in the bowl, he placed it in front of the owner with a flourish, flashing a quick grin at Farrah. She craned her neck to look at his handiwork, startled to notice that the berries had not just been sliced perfectly in half, but had also landed in as perfect a circle as could be made on lettuce.

The Ithorian picked up its fork, taking a big stabful of the contents of the bowl and munching contentedly on it, its head wobbling in a nod the whole while.

“Truly impressive knife work,” he said. “The salad is simple, yet elegant. The dressing doesn’t cling or overpower the other ingredients, and the plating of the berries was downright unbelievable.”

Kyrren waited, wiping his knives and cleaning down the cutting board, casually looking to confirm that he hadn’t gotten any knn’la berry juice on his robes.

“I regret to say that I don’t have a uniform or apron to fit your.. proportions on hand, however that could be ratified quickly. I must admit I am quite anxious to see your performance with the grill. If the skill sets of my staff are any comparison – all of them are not quite as flashy on the prep table than the grill – then your grill performance should be nothing short of amazing.”

Kyrren grinned. “It’s not polite to brag, but I will say I am confident in my skills.”

“Apparently so. The human yawn of boredom was a very humorous touch.” He pulled out a datapad, poked it a few times with one of the long fingers on his three-fingered hand, and slid it over to Kyrren. “This is our standard rate of pay for a flair chef. Of course, all compensation left from customers is yours. In addition, we offer access to our vast array of exotic ingredients, at wholesale cost.”

It was Kyrren’s turn for his eyebrows to raise. The pay offered was significant, the access to the ingredients an incredible luxury, and – truth be told – he had thoroughly enjoyed himself.

“When can I start?” he asked.

“Come down tomorrow, and I will arrange for our tailor to take some measurements and get you fitted for a uniform and apron. They will let us know when the uniform will be ready, and then you shall start.”

Kyrren reached out his hand, a human gesture of agreement, which the Ithorian clasped and shook. “It seems we are agreed. I shall see you in the morning, then.”

Farrah followed as they were ushered out, still wiring her jaw shut to prevent it from falling open, only blurting out once they had exited the resort and were waiting for a hovercar.

“You never told me you were a flair chef!”

He shrugged. “I never told you because I never was until today.”

She cocked her head to the side, realization dawning on her – of course the knife work was impeccable, since that was exactly how he wielded his lightsaber, through the Force! She narrowed her eyes and waggled a finger at him. “You.. you were in control of the whole show, then?”

Kyrren grinned and opened his mouth to say something, which she silenced with a swift kiss. “I know, I know. Never underestimate a fat Jedi.”

“Exactly,” he said, moving in to hug her close against his cushioned front. “Plus, this means I’ll have access to wholesale prices for butter nibs.”

Farrah’s eyebrows rose.

* * *
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Old 11-07-2007, 01:09 AM   #2
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Default Updated Legalese......

Setting used without permission. Star Wars Universe copyright George Lucas. Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords copyright LucasArts and BioWare. All planet names are the intellectual property of George Lucas and Lucas Books. To my knowledge, at the time of this posting, the characters Kyrren Mak, Farrah, Dobo Chah, Frez, Benklous, Yilts, butter nibs, the knn’la berry, and the Illicit Investment are my own unique creations.
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Old 11-07-2007, 12:04 PM   #3
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Great work! This story is well written, and extremely enjoyable.
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Old 11-07-2007, 12:35 PM   #4
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very creative.. good job!
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Old 11-07-2007, 11:47 PM   #5
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Default What the Fudge??

Okay -- the Hello Kitty Darth Stormtrooper is -- quite possibly -- the most disturbing fan costume I've ever seen in my life.

And I thought Spock ears were bad!
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Old 11-10-2007, 01:10 PM   #6
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Default Hmm..

I just realized, after re-reading that post, that reply I just made sounded pretty harsh. The sarcasm seems to have been lost in translation -- it wasn't intended to be quite that blunt!

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Old 11-10-2007, 03:34 PM   #7
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Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!Risible keeps pushing the rep limit!
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Quote:
Originally Posted by TaciturnBadger View Post
I just realized, after re-reading that post, that reply I just made sounded pretty harsh. The sarcasm seems to have been lost in translation -- it wasn't intended to be quite that blunt!

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Dry wit and sarcastic humor doesn't translate well on bulletin boards. Misunderstandings abound, especially in Hyde Park!
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Old 11-10-2007, 09:10 PM   #8
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Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!
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Hopefully Legato has a thick enough skin to have taken it in stride. I personally didn't think it came across as all that harsh
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Old 11-10-2007, 09:46 PM   #9
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Quote:
Originally Posted by TaciturnBadger View Post
Okay -- the Hello Kitty Darth Stormtrooper is -- quite possibly -- the most disturbing fan costume I've ever seen in my life.

And I thought Spock ears were bad!
don't worry taciturnbadger: i post that picture because i think exactly the same, i laugh so much after reading your reply: because this costume is an abomination. but in a twisted way kind of funny.

besides my skin is really thick. thank you for your reply: it was cool!!
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Old 11-10-2007, 09:52 PM   #10
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Hopefully Legato has a thick enough skin to have taken it in stride. I personally didn't think it came across as all that harsh
you are absolutly right sir.. cool people here.. great forum..

props on taciturnbadger story...
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Old 11-11-2007, 11:53 PM   #11
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because this costume is an abomination. but in a twisted way kind of funny.

What disturbs me, more than anything, is not just that someone had the frame of mind to dream up a Hello Kitty Darth Vader outfit...

But rather, they spent the time and the effort to actually manufacture said costume..

And worse than that, they actually wore it...

And even worse than that, that they actually let someone get photographic evidence of it!!

And.. even worse -- hear me out, as a Star Wars junkie -- even had the gall to walk into a convention next to a purist Stormtrooper outfit!

How lame is that?? Even Stacy and Clinton would have no words for Senor(a) Hello Kitty Darth Vader, other than What The Fudge!

--B.
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Old 11-12-2007, 07:52 AM   #12
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Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!
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If anyone cares, the pinkvader.jpg file has been around for awhile and is part of the Google image librsary, which picked it up from an hispanic site. here.

According to the credit on the picture it first originated with a site called allfunnypuictures.com, but its buried in their archives by now.

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Old 11-13-2007, 05:44 PM   #13
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I'm a total star wars geek. ANy chance of a BBW version?
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Old 11-13-2007, 08:58 PM   #14
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oh man i love this story! i signed up just to comment. there are so few really good bhm wg story's out there when compared to the amount of story's about bbws. i love the caricature development, and i have re read this at least twice so far! i can't wait till the next installment.
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Old 11-14-2007, 12:13 AM   #15
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More is coming, and while I won't say what will happen, I will say that the comments I've received have been taken into consideration...
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Old 11-17-2007, 11:37 AM   #16
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Default The Hunt of the Fat Jedi Parts VII-VIII

The Hunt of the Fat Jedi Part VII

Two standard hours later, trusting in Kyrren Mak’s judgment, they arrived at an apartment complex that was not in the heart of the city. He let her lead the way in, agreeing to let her do some of the talking unless he needed to step in.

“Thanks,” she said, as they stepped across the threshold into the leasing office. “I was beginning to feel rather useless.”

The leasing official came over to greet them, a tall, pale, and lanky human with a shaggy red mop of hair that came down to his eyes. “How is it that I may be of assistance to you today?”

Kyrren had to bite his tongue to avoid replying automatically, and let Farrah take the lead.

“We were looking for an apartment, immediate availability.”

“One or two bedroom?”

“One.” She spoke the response with a confused expression on her face, as though the possibility of them not sharing a bed was preposterous.

“We do have an apartment available that matches your criteria,” the leasing official rattled off in a squeaky monotone, his choice of words and delivery reminiscent of a protocol droid. “If you will accompany me to the lift, I will show you to the apartment for your inspection.”

He turned and shuffled away in a stiff-jointed shamble. Farrah followed behind the leasing official, falling behind a few steps to whisper to Kyrren. “Why is it the one I get to talk to is a lunatic who thinks he’s a droid?”

He chuckled. “How do you know he’s not a droid?”

“Who would dress up a droid quite so ridiculously?”

“You never know,” he shrugged. “But he isn’t a droid. I can sense him.”

She rolled her eyes and went to join the leasing official in the lift, taking them up an uncountable number of floors to a long, brightly sunlit hallway. The official led the way out, stopping two doors in from the lift and turning completely around to face them.

“We have arrived at the prospective residence. I will follow you as you enter.”

The door opened as they approached, and Kyrren made it a point to eye the width of the door. Satisfied that it wasn’t too narrow, they entered, and Farrah made a quick tour of the layout. It was already equipped with basic, if plain, furniture that would serve until they made it more of a home. She made a quick review, gave a knowing glance at Kyrren, who gave an imperceptible nod, and they were done.

“We’ll take it,” she said, relief flowing through her. The stress of finding lodging had been bearing down on her quite hard in the past few hours, even though she hadn’t been consciously aware of it, and now that weight had been lifted.

“I have with me a copy of the official paperwork for you to hand-print,” the official said, handing both Kyrren and Farrah a datapad. “There will also be the matter of income verification..”

Farrah’s head whipped up, a little too quickly to be casual. Kyrren calmly handed the datapad back after his hand-printing was completed, waggling his chubby fingers slightly as he did so.

“I am a flair chef at The Dancing Daggers. Income will not be a problem.”

“Income will not be a problem,” the leasing official repeated, taking the datapads back, his voice briefly dotted with more normal speech inflection before returning to his droid-like monotone. “The residence has been keyed to your identities now. The information terminal in the wall will have additional data with regards to property policies and procedures. Do you have any further inquiries?”

Both Kyrren and Farrah shook their heads.

“Then I will depart. If you need my assistance in the future, you may contact me via the information terminal.” And with that, the official left.

Farrah rushed over and hugged herself tight against Kyrren. “We have an apartment!”

He grinned. “And I have a job.”

She shrugged. “I’ll get one too. I just don’t have the gall to walk into a galaxy-class restaurant and demand a job interview. Or land it,” she added, laughing.

“Oh well. In the meantime..” he winked at her.

“Dinner first!” She held up a finger to accentuate her point. “Can’t have you wasting away on me.”

* * *
Farrah was relaxing in their apartment, folding up a pair of Kyrren’s large trousers that he had, grudgingly, begun wearing during four months they had stayed in Coronet instead of his attention-getting Jedi robes. He was not pleased about the fact, especially considering his constant requirement to get them adjusted as his waistline steadily expanded. His robes, he maintained, did not require alterations every three weeks.

She had pointed out, quite rapidly, that continuing to wear his Jedi robes on a daily basis would not constitute keeping a low profile.

Picking up the next pair out of the linen refresher, she held them up in front of her, indulging in a personal joy she hadn’t told anyone about. She stepped into them, having a revelation of just how big he was, from his point of view. The thighs of his pants, snug around his legs, had enough room in them for her to put both of her legs into one of his pant legs..

..well, she could a few weeks ago. Farrah looked down, realizing that she had, apparently, softened up recently herself, more than she had been aware of.

Stepping out of his pants and laying them on the bed, she stood in front of the full-length mirror in their bedroom. Kyrren had said, shortly after they started living together in the apartment, that the longer she stayed with him, the more he would rub off on her. Apparently, he’d been right, in more ways than one.

She had been aware, ever since the first butter nib she’d had on the Illicit Investment, that her fascination with fat did not stop simply with Kyrren’s own growth. Having analyzed her own desires quite heavily since meeting him, she accepted the fact that her society-decreed inhibitions collided with her wants, and had slowly been removing them from her way of thinking. Her appetite, having been constantly provided with opportunities to overeat thanks to the feasts for six she prepared for her and Kyrren, had slowly been increasing. She was aware of her own portions getting slowly larger and larger each meal, had found herself sharing in one of Kyrren’s butter nibs every now and then. Although, she admitted, the latter was happening more and more often.

Farrah stood in her undergarments and examined her figure carefully, looking at how her midsection had softened slightly, but not in a dramatic light; it was, more than anything, a loss of definition from her formerly taut abdomen. Her breasts were fuller, but that was only noticeable by the fact that they seemed to strain to fit into her brassiere where previously they had been quite securely supported.

Her eyes wandered to her legs, where the biggest changes seemed to have taken place. While above the waist there were subtle changes, below the waist was far more apparent. Her thighs were visibly thicker around, her hips curving outwards now to form a dramatic waist-hip differentiation. The softening of her thighs was not the only change, she knew, turning around to consider her posterior.

Five months ago, before she met Kyrren, it was firm and tight, a pert handful-sized bubble she had worked hard to keep. Now she reviewed her rear, a widened and protruding butt; there was no other way to describe it. Where before, she would have panicked at how much larger she had become, now she relished it. When she walked, and felt her calves, thighs, and butt quiver with each impact, she found it sensual, downright erotic even. Now, she thought, I understand why Kyrren is so intrigued by his own size.

She tossed her hair back and caught herself in mid-throw, looking at her arms, which had also lost definition to the layer of fat surrounding them. Unlike her tummy, they had softened considerably, much the way her thighs had, a small hang of skin draping from them, threatening to become a roll over her elbow similar to Kyrren’s if she continued to grow.

The thought made a warm spot grow between her thighs, which she noticed barely touched each other when she stood, just below her panties, just barely. And, she also discovered, examining her body in the mirror for the first time since their arrival, that hints of a roll were beginning to form just above her knees.

Farrah pictured herself bigger, making the trends continue to spread with her imagination. In her vision, her hips, thighs, calves, and butt continued to grow the most; widening out past her shoulders, her thighs touching further and further towards her knees, which now had a roll growing to fall over her kneecaps. Her calves thickened to match, tapering down to her ankles, which made her feet look tiny in comparison to the balloon of flesh above them. Her stomach continued to grow, as did her breasts, getting heavy and resting over the comparatively tiny poof of her belly.

The flesh of her arms expanded as well, her upper arms dimpling at the elbow where the fat fell over it. Her forearms softened, the flesh shifting to hang down in gravity’s embrace. Her cheeks filled out, striking eyes still lovely over cheekbones which didn’t seem so severe now. Her lips remained pert, made even more prominent and visible above a subtle double-chin, which wasn’t quite as large as Kyrren’s.

She felt herself growing warmer and hotter as she examined her vision, playing her hands over open air where the image in the mirror said her hips would be, where her breasts would be, over where her arms would be. Farrah felt herself being consumed by the dawning realization and acceptance that the person watching her from the mirror would be her, in time. The thought of being as large as Kyrren – albeit in a different fashion, of course – made her wild with desire.

Stripping out of her undergarments, she dashed to the sonic shower, feeling the soft fat of her body quiver with each step and the heat inside her growing. She turned it on, feeling the vibrations resonate in her softness, letting her fingers fall down over her tummy, between her legs, and locking onto the magical spot within her crotch.

Leaning against the wall of the shower, one of the sonic emitters between her thighs sending cascades of ripples up the fat of her legs, she felt the complete mind-and-body climax of acceptance and understanding of her true desires wrack its way through her body. Her moans and pants echoed through the shower, the smile on her face seemingly permanent.

Farrah left the sonic shower, making her way to the kitchen to indulge in the tin of the butter nibs that she kept on the counter for Kyrren. The explosion of flavor permeated every fiber of her being, mingling with the tingling remnants of her climax.

She contemplated some of Kyrren’s teachings he had made over the past few months. After the first time they had made love, she had found herself awakened to something else; found herself experiencing sensations she hadn’t realized were there before. He had explained to her that she had unlocked her mind to flow of the Force, and she had been practicing the rudimentary use of what he had time to instruct her on.

Having only been practicing for a few short months, she was nowhere near the level of complete mastery that Kyrren was, but had gotten to the level where she could consciously call her awareness of the Force to her at will. She closed her eyes, slowing her breathing, feeling the nibs and her orgasm humming through her body, and let the Force flow into her and calm her.

She opened her eyes, focusing on the tin and raising her hand. It rattled, wobbled, and ever-so-slowly slid along the counter until it made contact with the wall.

Farrah sighed, smiling. She couldn’t make lightsabers dance around her, but she was making steps.

Almost unconsciously, a thought popped into her mind: as her body was expanding, so was her power with the Force. Connected? Not directly; but they were coincidentally bound together in her mind.

* * *
Kyrren Mak waddled into the lift leading to his and Farrah’s apartment, relieved to be done with his shift for the day. Even after seven months working as a flair chef for The Dancing Daggers, he wasn’t bored with it, however, some days were tedious. The ones he didn’t enjoy as much, like today, were when he was working on a grill and prep station that wasn’t the one he had customized to accommodate his expanded growth, the ones which required a greater amount of getting items from under the counter.

At his present weight of 205 kilos – or a hair under four hundred and fifty-two pounds Telosian, as Farrah preferred to think of it – grabbing ingredients from under the counter repeatedly throughout the day had become somewhat cumbersome. At the same token, however, it served as a reminder of just how large he had gotten, in a much more comfortable way than constantly having his uniform altered to allow for his bulk without him looking like an over-stuffed Tatooine sausage.

His fingers and arms, on the other hand, always looked like overstuffed sausages. His upper arms had rolled over his elbows, which made for quite the jiggling show during his presentations. His belly had continued its expansion outwards, his apron falling down to just above where his thighs rolled over his knees when he stood. His legs had thickened as well, slowly turning him into an official waddler as his weight climbed.

The door to their apartment opened, and he saw Farrah standing in front of the holovid projector, watching it transfixed. He appraised her form, having expanded in its proportions over the months much as his had.

Her hips had widened significantly, as had her thighs, turning her into the epitome of what the fashion world termed a ‘pear-shaped’ form. He loved her softened body, loved even more the fact that her physical expansion was mirrored by her growing attunement with the Force.

More than that, he loved feeling her soft fat pressed up against his when they made love, their bodies connecting on a mental level as well as a physical one, their climaxes growing in magnitude as their bodies grew in bulk.

She waved him over, the distress on her face wiping the smile that had been on his. He looked at the screen, watching a newscaster reading a report in front of footage of an asteroid belt.

“…key to the Telosian restoration effort, the Citadel Station Administration has yet to comment on how the destruction of the Peragus II fuel mining facility will affect its ability to maintain orbit. Citadel Station, as is known to those supportive of the restoration effort, has relied almost entirely on fuel from Peragus II to maintain orbit.”

Kyrren’s breath caught in his throat, and Farrah pointed to the screen. Knowing the way important newscasts repeated themselves several times, he was certain that she had already seen what was coming next.

“..unconfirmed reports allege that the destruction of the facility is the direct result of actions taken by a lone Jedi in an act of sabotage.”

His jaw fell. “That’s not possible,” he breathed.

Farrah’s hand covered her mouth. “They said in an earlier report that the entire staff of the station was found dead amongst the debris. The death toll stands at over two hundred as of the time of the broadcast.”

The holovid continued. “..the initial outrage at the disaster, the second to plague the Peragus system in recent history, has called for a resurgence of attention to the Sith bounty on Jedi. Bounty hunters across the galaxy are mobilizing to collect on the fifty thousand credit reward for a live Jedi..”

Kyrren clicked off the holovid projector.

“As horrible as that is, I don’t believe the bounty is much of a concern to us,” he whispered to Farrah’s ear, moving behind her to hug her back to his belly. “There are only two people in the galaxy that know where we are, and they’re not going to be anywhere near the Sith.”

“I just don’t want to get wrapped up with them,” she said. “I was just getting used to the idea that we were done with running for our lives. And even though you built me a lightsaber, I still don’t feel confident enough with my skills to start learning to use it.”

He smiled, hoping to reassure her. “Trust me. We don’t have anything to worry about. All the Jedi left Corellia a long, long time ago. If there is any place that the Sith are going to target immediately, it will be Coruscant, where the Jedi Council hall still sits abandoned and empty. Or, perhaps, Dantooine, where they tried to re-form before the Jedi Civil War shattered that council, too. This is the last place they’d look.”

“I hope you’re right,” she sighed.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be fine. Just watch, this whole thing will blow over, and we’ll still be here, fat and happy.”

* * *
Kyrren stood by the bed, watching Farrah strip down from the clothes she wore and change into her long sleep shirt. He couldn’t help but notice how the shirt had become less and less loose as the months had passed, her expanding curves pressing against the soft cloth.

“Wait,” he said, as she started pulling it down over her hips.

She glanced up at him, wondering what was wrong.

He came around the side of the bed, his reverie at watching her disrobe interrupting his own changing of clothes. Standing before her, nude, he placed his hands on her soft hips.

“We don’t have to go to sleep quite yet,” he whispered, the hint in his voice and sparkle in his eyes unmistakable.

Farrah smiled at him, pulling the sleep shirt off over her head and tossing it on the floor. He stepped in, feeling his ample belly press against the warmth and softness of her much smaller one, leaning over to meet her lips in an emphatic kiss. Their tongues danced with each other, each feeling the temperature in the room rise several degrees from the release of desire.

Not wanting to break the embrace, but wanting to feel their contact on a more intimate level, Farrah tore herself away and laid on the bed, opening her legs in an irresistible invitation. Kyrren stepped over into her, feeling her legs cradle his stomach and his arms cradle her legs, lifting his belly to allow his stiffened manhood access to her warmth.

Farrah moaned as he entered her, the slowness of his movements heightening the sensations. She reached out with her hands, stroking his belly, which covered her own stomach, just barely brushing against the bottom of her breasts. As he began his motions, a gentle thrust at first, she felt the weight of his stomach grinding against that wonderful spot in between her legs, making her eyes flutter and close and her head rock back. He increased the rhythm of his thrusts, causing a muffled slap to ring out with every motion, the soft fat of his thighs colliding with her plumped rear end. His grunts mingled with her groans, both bodies quivering with each motion they made, his member plunging deep inside her, over and over in a hypnotic trance of ecstasy.

And then Farrah was writhing, screwing her eyes shut in a jaw-clenching explosion of rapture, her warmth tightening and releasing with every rapid breath, pressing her fingers deep into the layers upon layers of fat that was Kyrren’s massive belly, the very act of which drove her into an even tighter clench and more rapid release.

Kyrren felt her contract around him, felt her fingers sink into his belly, and found his own climax, his member erupting in a series of long jets, filling Farrah’s warmth with his love. She moaned in response to his own climax, squeezing his manhood and drawing another pulse from him, which in turn drew another contraction from her. She ran her hands over his belly, feeling its heft and weight, the sheer size of her man, and her vision turned to stars behind her closed eyes.

He grunted, the spasms of his member finally over after what seemed like an eternity of each pushing the other over the edge in a back-and-forth of primal elation. His softened chest heaved, belly moving in and out with each of his heavy breaths. Her legs still cradled his stomach, her fingers lightly tracing circles on the skin of his belly.

Kyrren was the first to break the silence. “It just gets better as we get bigger, doesn’t it?”

Farrah nodded, her eyes still closed, feeling the heat pass from her warmth all through her body.

He stepped back, letting her thickened legs down and feeling his stomach slide across Farrah’s softened midsection, eliciting a quiet, whimpering moan from her. He laid next to her on the bed and she shuffled up for a more comfortable position, spooned around his ample belly.

“Sleep well, love,” he breathed into her neck.

* * *
Kyrren waddled out of the employee entrance to The Dancing Daggers, happy that the shift was over. Something in the Force hadn’t felt right all day; he hadn’t been able to pay attention to it while working, but now that he was off, he might be able to focus on it and try and make some sense out of why the short grey hairs on the back of his neck were standing on-end.

He ambled slowly through the interior of the hotel, nodding and waving to the many employees and the few resort residents who recognized and knew him from the restaurant. He couldn’t help but have his thoughts constantly wander back to the subtle disturbance in the Force, unable to decide if he should worry about it, investigate it, or ignore it.

The night air was cool on his skin as the doors slid open to the docking deck where his Mark VII hovercar he purchased several months ago waited. He remembered wrestling with the dealership after he bought it, since the modifications for the seat dimensions were locked and he was unable to change them; that led to almost a week of squeezing into a control seat whose dimensions were much smaller than his own.

After they finally agreed to unlock the modifications, he’d been quite satisfied with the vehicle. Farrah constantly reminded him how she loved to get out first, simply so she could watch the repulsorlifts pivot madly with the over two-hundred-kilo weight change when he got out.

He, personally, preferred watching the subtle change when she got in, slowly getting more and more noticeable.

Kyrren halted, still many meters from where the hovercar was parked. He looked around the deck, his eyes darting about the people standing around. There was a hostile presence.. somewhere, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. It was almost as if..

A series if high-pitched thwips reached his ears, and he felt five small tugs on his shirt. Looking down, he saw a full set of five red-tipped SysTech standard tranquilizer darts, each striking his massive paunch from a different angle. He felt his eyes roll back in his head, and then.. blackness.

* * *

Farrah dropped the onion she had been peeling and found herself jogging as quickly as she could out of the apartment and into the lift to the docking bay on the roof. On the way, her mind caught up with why she had just left an onion on the floor.

Something bad happened to Kyrren.

She knew whatever it was had just happened, and the sooner she got there, the sooner she would be able to – what? She didn’t know, but something was better than nothing.

Her Mark VII hovercar – a silver model matching the one Kyrren himself flew – was identical save the dimensions on the seat adjustments were mirrored. She punched it through a forced emergency power-up, barely waiting for the green OK light to come on before gunning the throttle full-speed towards the resort.

While not quite as insane a pilot as Dobo Chah, or able to fly with break-neck precision like Kyrren, Farrah had her determination on her side, and rolled the hovercar around other traffic. On any normal day, her piloting would be making her nervous; she wasn’t one to use a single drift-turn on an empty traffic lane, let alone doing several in rapid succession on a congested one while rolling around traffic she couldn’t pass at the gut-wrenching speed she had pushed the hovercar to.

Only moments after dashing out of the apartment, she pulled up to the docking deck of the resort, immediately spotting Kyrren’s hovercar still present. Something within her yanked her attention to the opposite side of the docking deck, and she pulled up further. Across the way, she saw three rough-looking characters having a great deal of difficulty dragging Kyrren’s weighty form towards a nearby dingy-looking local freighter. She spotted a familiar bright red bobbing from his stomach, and noticed no less than five flechette tranquilizer darts bobbing up and down on his stomach.

“Not amateurs,” she sighed. There was probably enough in those darts to tranq both him and her. He wasn’t waking up any time soon.

Part of her wanted to rush up and save him, but she knew that she didn’t have the skills to overpower at least three professional bounty hunters. And well-equipped, organized ones, at that. So she sat, and waited, and watched.

While normally, she would get some form of thrill out of watching three men struggling to lift Kyrren’s bulk into the back of the freighter, and an even greater one out of watching the freighter’s suspension system dip down when he was laid on it, the situation prevented any such thoughts. She sat, the hovercar’s overpowered ion drive humming idly, watching and waiting until the freighter began its own liftoff.

Farrah followed, keeping a safe cushion of space between herself and the freighter, letting her speed vary and changing traffic lanes to provide the illusion that she wasn’t doing exactly what she was. The freighter made a few turns down areas she was unfamiliar with, the hovercar’s navigation systems beeping and telling them they had left the Resort District and were headed into the Industrial District.

The skin on her hands and arms started to crawl; she had heard rumors about the Industrial District, which appeared to be sustained by the appearance of the buildings, quickly changing from the oversized, clean, and nicely built structures of the Resort District and replaced with squat, drab grey duracrete buildings. The freighter made a few more quick turns and started to descend, moving down to the surface and pulling into what appeared to be an old-style warehouse, with surprisingly little traffic coming and going compared to many of the others nearby.

She parked the hovercar at a space located across the street, placing her hands on her knees and relaxing, allowing a Jedi calming technique Kyrren had taught her to sweep over her. She knew that with the amount of tranquilizers put into Kyrren he would be out of commission for quite some time; this put a dampener on any rescue attempts she might make, since there was no way she, alone, could carry out of a building what three bounty hunters had difficulty moving across a flat docking deck. At the same token, she didn’t know what they were doing to him inside. For the moment, she would just wait.

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Old 11-17-2007, 11:39 AM   #17
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Default Part VIII

The Hunt of the Fat Jedi Part VIII

Kyrren cracked open his eyes, head thick with confusion. He lay on a chilly flat plasteel slab protruding from an equally chilly plain wall. Other than the slab, the chamber was empty, kept separated from the rest of whatever building or frigate he was in via an electrified shielding screen.

Raising his head up to look around further, he was surprised to note that he was shirtless and shoeless, covered only for modesty by his trousers, which seemed to have been emptied of everything in the pockets. He noticed, as well, that the plasteel slab did not extend far from the wall, and much of his heavy belly draped over the side.

He couldn’t help but think that Farrah – and himself – would enjoy that much more if it weren’t in quite a sticky situation. He made a mental note to take a nap on the couch one day, and have her walk in with his belly spilling over the side towards the floor. He could just imagine what she would do, how her hands would caress it, feeling its heft…

The dreamy thought was halted quickly by the appearance of a server droid, a smallish model with nothing more than a bowl of unidentifiable porridge and a glass of water, rolling through a break in the shielding screen which opened and closed just around its shape, and was far too small for him to crawl through. It dropped the flimsy, disposable tray off and left as quickly as it arrived.

Upon the appearance of the food, his large stomach growled uncomfortably loudly. He wondered how long he had been out; there was still five tiny prick-marks on his belly where the darts had been. That was, after finishing a quick mental calculation, enough to keep him out of commission for quite some time.

With nothing else to do, he picked up the bowl and sniffed the bland-looking porridge, which he identified as NutraPaste, a common sight in survival and emergency packs. While loaded with nutrients, vitamins, and minerals, and an excellent survival food, it held the flavor and consistency of wet pureed Bantha fur.

He wrinkled his nose at the meager offering and set it back down on the tray, but downed the water. He reached out with his senses, trying to locate anyone or anything. The hallways were devoid of life, the remainder of the building had a number of extremely hostile beings in it. Outside the building, oscillating from panic to Jedi calm, he felt Farrah.

Kyrren sighed in relief; at least she was all right and close by. That would make things easier once he got out of the cell.

The walls and ceiling of the cell held nothing for him to manipulate; there were no vents, no viewports, no pipes, nothing. The only thing to prevent the cell from being a perfectly smooth cube was the plasteel “bed,” which was mounted quite securely into the wall.

He looked through the electric shielding screen, being very careful to keep a safe distance between his bearded cheeks and the screen itself. The hallway was built much like the detention chamber itself; smooth walls and not a single thing unsecured. He sighed, resigning himself to the fact that whomever’s custody he was in was very experienced in detaining Jedi.

Kyrren sat on the slab, too narrow for him to truly get a comfortable seating on, gave up, and sat on the chilly floor with his back to the wall, closed his eyes, and waited.

He wasn’t kept waiting for long, though. A mere twenty minutes after he had come to, he sensed someone’s approach, and opened his eyes to see a surprisingly well-dressed man. Dark hair was slicked back on his head, and his dark eyes gave him almost a predatory look; his pale skin did little to change that appearance.

“I trust you’ve not had any bad reactions from the tranquilizers?” he asked, in an oily voice.

“Getting tranqed in the first place notwithstanding, no,” Kyrren replied, looking for anything on his person that could be utilized as a telekinetic weapon.

“Good,” the captor smiled. “I wouldn’t want to have you damaged, that would cost me a great deal of money.

Kyrren didn't respond.

“However,” he added, “I would much rather make more by selling you in other ways, if the Sith wouldn’t take grand exception to that course of action. I know a great many people who would be interested in chops from someone of your… magnificent dimensions. Or roasted whole, that would make an amazing deal of credits, as well.”

If Kyrren Mak hadn’t been a Jedi, his skin would be crawling and stomach churning right now. This wasn’t what he had in mind when talking to someone who appreciated fat.

“I should let you know now, my blubber-laden catch, that there is no feasible means of escape from this cage. I will be the only human you will ever come in contact with, and there is nothing for you to push or pull or use your wonderful Force to save yourself with. I have used this chamber for years to keep Jedi and break their spirit. I highly doubt you have some magnificent ability that the many Jedi I have sold to the Sith did not.”

He waggled a finger towards the electric shielding screen. “And don’t think you’re going to disable the screen, here, to get out. The controls are located elsewhere in the facility in a very secure location. I’m afraid you are quite completely kept.”

Kyrren narrowed his eyes, but said nothing.

“The men who picked you up said that you were fat. I see, now, that they were right; delectably so.” The captor’s eyes flashed as he scanned over Kyrren’s body.

“I think, this time, just in case the Sith do not respond to my message in a timely fashion, that we will have to make a change in the feeding policy. I can’t see the point in letting you waste all that gloriously delicious fat away by surviving on NutraPaste. We’ll need to keep you just as plumped as you are now, better yet, as big as I can get you. After all, chops and whole roasts are sold by weight, and the fatter the meat, the juicier the flavor, and the more credits in my pocket.”

And with that rather disturbing thought, Kyrren was alone again. A few moments passed in silent contemplation of the situation, and the server droid returned, this time with a large glass of thick tan liquid; he sniffed it, took in the smoky flavor that permeated his entire nose, and picked it up. An expensive treat for a detainee, the large glass was filled with a puree of butter nibs. Once the scent truly struck his mind, habit from his sessions with Farrah took over. Before he realized what he was doing, he drank down the entire contents of the glass, feeling his body tingle with the mind-boggling dose of caloric energy.

* * *

Farrah was quietly panicking. She had spent the last day watching the building that Kyrren had been taken into, regretting her inability to truly stage a rescue attempt. She had noticed, however, that there was no other traffic into or out of the building; without any patterns to study, she didn’t have any idea of where to begin.

She did sense, however, that Kyrren was alive and unhurt; aside from minor discomfort from what she could assume was not the best of accommodations, he was healthy. And… tingling?

With no other recourse, she had finally patched into the hovercar’s subspace communicator. Most models didn’t come with one, but of course, Kyrren had the presence of mind to have them installed in case just such an emergency arose.

The console beeped a few moments later, and the static-covered face of Dobo Chah appeared. “Kyrren, old buddy, how’s things? Oh, hi, Farrah. What’s up?”

She struggled to keep her voice level. “He’s been taken, Dobo. I know where he is for the moment. We.. I.. need your help. And quickly.”

* * *

The whir of the serving droid’s motivators woke Kyrren again. There was no change of light in the cell, no viewports to the outside, nothing other than the electric shielding screen and the short, bare, five-meter stretch of hallway he could see without burning himself.

The droid did not even come at any set interval of time, not that Kyrren could detect, at least. Each time, it brought a different concoction; he knew without a doubt, however, that all of them would serve the purpose of expanding the layers of fat surrounding him; none of them, however, cured the craving within him for actual solid food. While normally, this added gain would be somewhat of an exciting proposition, the joys were dwindled by the idea of quite literally being his captor’s Corellian prize hog.

The server droid left with the empty glass. Kyrren closed his eyes again, wondering just how long he had already been sealed in the chamber.

* * *

Farrah watched as the Illicit Investment’s vectrojets fired, slowing the motley ship’s descent before the landing gear touched down. A moment later, the boarding ramp hissed and lowered, Dobo Chah bounding down and hardly waiting for the lowering to finish before he was on solid ground.

Never one to let the chance to make a joke slide, regardless of the gravity of the situation, he looked Farrah’s expanded curves up and down. “Kyrren rubbing off on you a little, eh?”

She placed her hands on her hips and cocked her head to the side. “Can we wait until he is not being held up by some crime lord before we start joking on my weight?”

Dobo held his hands up in surrender. “Hey, didn’t mean anything by it. How much do you know about the outfit?”

“It’s a Ruuro Butani top, what does that have to do with it?” her voice rose with frustration at Dobo’s seemingly flippant attitude.

“I meant that outfit,” he chuckled, pointing at the building across the street. “What do you know about it?”

Oh. She felt her face warm. “Nobody has come in or gone out since he got dropped off.”

“How long ago was that?”

“A little over three days.”

Dobo’s eyebrows rose. “And you haven’t left this spot since?”

Farrah shook her head.

“Wow, that’s pretty impressive. I’ll keep watch from here, why don’t you go on board and get cleaned up some?”

She shook her head again. “I’m not going anywhere until Kyrren is out of that place. You’ve done this sort of thing before, how do we start?”

Dobo looked at the building. “Well, first thing we need is a building schematic and a plan.” He dug a small cylindrical tube out of one of his many pockets which Farrah recognized as a short-range communicator.

“Frez, pull up a sensor schematic on that building the center cockpit viewport is aimed at.”

The Duros’ warbly voice was even more incoherent to Farrah when coming out of a communicator. She tried to wait with the same patience she had shown the past few days, but found that since Dobo had arrived, that her urgency had doubled.

A few moments later, the communicator beeped, and Dobo nodded. “He’s got the schematic up. We’ll check it out, find out the layout of the building, and plan a course of action from there.”

Farrah nodded and followed him inside, where they sat at the small table in the main hold, Frez calling up a holographic projection of the building’s layout. He warbled on for several minutes, pointing out specific areas and crooning at one long hallway in particular. Farrah nodded, knowing what was being implied even though she couldn’t understand his native Duros tongue.

Dobo waited until Frez finished before translating. “He says that parts of the building have been modified heavily from it’s original construction design. This hallway here,” he pointed to the one Frez had been stabbing repeatedly, “looks quite likely to be used as a detention center. And this room here is most likely to be the main command center, judging by the number of power conduits feeding from it.”

“So how do we do this?”

He scratched his stubbly chin and thought for a moment. “Well, if it’s a bounty hunter den, we’ll have to try and act like bounty hunters. Or worse,” he added.

“What’s worse than a bounty hunter?”

Dobo jumped up and ran into the cargo hold, a wild fervor in his eyes. He returned a few moments later with a dusty crate, dropping it to clang loudly against the floor of the main hold. “I have an idea.”

* * *
Farrah pressed the call button on the panel next to the building’s door, trying her best to look as high-and-mighty as possible. Dressed up in flowing black robes and a black cloak Dobo had stuffed away in the dusty crate, she also sported a thin layer of makeup on her face, providing the effect of darkening her eyes and making her look quite pale.

Dobo and Frez stood behind her, both sneering and trying to look as tough as possible. The Duros was doing quite a bad job of it, but Farrah wondered if it were even possible for the co-pilot to act mean.

The panel crackled. “Speak.”

“We’re here for the Jedi,” she hissed.

No further response came from the panel, other than a light turning from red to green and the door sliding open. She stepped inside, her heart pounding and throat dry, fighting to keep her hands from being drenched in sweat. Having studied the layout of the building on the sensor schematic, she knew exactly where they were in relation to the command room and the detention area.

A bounty hunter armed with a pair of heavy blaster pistols stopped them a few steps into the building. “You see the boss before you see the commodity.”

The commodity? That was an odd way to refer to Kyrren.

“Fine.” She tried, with an unknown measure of success, to keep her voice cold and heartless.

The bounty hunter led them through the simple layout of the building towards the room they had correctly identified as the command center. Inside, she saw the man who could only be the leader of the operation, dark hair slicked back and expensive clothes, with black eyes and pale skin which mirrored the way Farrah had been made up.

“Ahh, a potential customer,” he smiled, two rows of unnaturally white teeth staring her in the face. “We have many excellent specimens, and one of exceptional quality, which I’m afraid –“

“We’re here for the Jedi,” she repeated, squaring her shoulders.

His eyebrows rose, and his smile faded somewhat. “Oh. Well, in that case, then..”

He turned, reaching for a datapad on the desk behind him. She whipped her hand up, clutching the lightsaber Kyrren had constructed for her and praying she remembered how to turn it on, and thumbed what she thought was the ignition switch.

The trademark snap-hiss of the blade extending from the hilt was punctuated by the leader’s almost instantly stifled scream, the blade protruding from his chest on the other side. She pulled it out, astonished by the weightlessness of the weapon and the complete lack of resistance in his flesh, the stench of cauterized lung and singed fibers filling the room.

Blaster fire rang out, echoing off the walls of the confined space and 0making them much louder than normal. Dobo pivoted, dodging the dual-weapon onslaught of the bounty hunter by diving backwards, unleashing a barrage of his own returned blaster fire.

Luckily, he had the advantage, knowing the surprise attack was going to happen, and before too much noise had been made, the bounty hunter slumped to the floor. Several blackened cavities smoked on his chest.

“Move quickly,” he said, bringing himself back to his feet.

Farrah grabbed the datapad that had clattered to the ground. The display was unusual, a listing of numbers. She poked around on the screen, scrolling back to the top of the document. What she saw made her gasp and nearly drop it: across the top of a chart were the headings Cell Number, Height, Weight, Projected Weight in 30 Days, Present Bid, and a Sold (Y/N) column.

“What?” Dobo asked, motioning to Frez to stand watch at the door.

“He’s selling people,” she said under her breath. “That’s why he was saying ‘commodities’ and ‘specimens.’ This is an illegal human farm.”

Dobo leaned over and looked at the display, blinking data across the screen. “1.75 meters, 209 kilos, that’s got to be your man. I didn’t think he was that short, though.” He paused for a moment. “Projected to be 215 kilos? Space slime, what is he doing to these people?”

“But look at all these others listed! We can’t just leave them here.” She couldn’t help but notice the disturbingly high numbers of credits listed in the Present Bid column for many of the prisoners, and the stomach-churning amount listed next to what she was certain was Kyrren’s entry: 347,280 credits. No wonder he was so grudging to find he would be forced into the Sith bounty of only fifty thousand.

Dobo groaned, wrestling with his conscience. She was right; he couldn’t just walk away and leave a dozen people to be sold, and likely sold to some sick, rich, intergalactic cannibal. Dobo had heard of underground rings such as this one, even considered an evil and black-market operation by those such as himself who engaged in illegal black-market operations. The mere knowledge of what the monster she had skewered on her lightsaber was doing made him squeamish.

“All right, but we have to move fast. Frez, get in here and find a way to unlock those cells. Here, I found his lightsaber on the desk.” He handed it to her, and the two smugglers switched places, Farrah following Dobo deeper into the building as fast as she could.

Thanks to their mental map of the building, it took little more than a minute to wind their ways towards the detention cell hallway. She marveled to herself at the lack of guards; so far, the only people they’d encountered were the boss and the one bounty hunter.

They turned the final corner and found themselves in a long hallway dotted with electric shielding screens, spaced far enough away so that the prisoners couldn’t see anything other than empty hallway without cooking their faces.

“Frez, what’s your status on these cells? All of them are still on.”

The communicator garbled something in response.

“Who cares about the security lock on them? Just shut the whole power grid down.”

Farrah raised her eyebrows in confusion. “So how will we –“

Before she could finish her sentence, the entire detention hall was plunged into darkness, pierced with cries of confusion from the prisoners. Dobo held up a portable light, shining it down the hall and calling for quiet.

“Everyone, get in line, quickly now! No time for questions. Keep quiet and we all might get out of this alive!”

The palpable excitement and hope at the prospect of escape was enough to keep the mouths of the dozen or so prisoners silent. She looked from one to the other, all of them wearing nothing but plain cloth pants, with no shoes. All of them, she noted, showed subtle signs of being fattened, in various stages, the largest of whom was not much more than a small Telosian ale belly. She couldn’t help but make the connection that if these human-buyers wanted their products to be fat, then Kyrren was a gold mine of epic scale. The absurd price difference in the Bid column began to make sense.

“Alright,” he said. “Kyrren should be just around the corner. I’ll stay here and stand watch over the prisoners. You go and get him.”

“Why me?” she whispered, the hiss in her voice natural this time. “I can’t fight if there’s a guard!”

“No, but Kyrren can.” He pointed to the pair of lightsabers in her hands. “You’ll be fine.”

She huffed at him, but hustled down the hallway nonetheless. When she reached the ninety-degree bend, she turned to see Kyrren already waddling down the hall in her direction. She ran up and wrapped her arms around him in a bear hug.

“You had me worried,” she breathed into his neck, feeling the whiskers of his beard tickle her ear.

“Am I glad to see you, love!” He held the embrace for a moment, and she hadn’t enjoyed his warmth so much in her life. She leaned back after a moment and inspected him for injuries.

“Those pants weren’t that tight when you left for work,” she noted, unable to slip a finger inside his waistband against the soft flesh confined in the tight trousers.

“No, they weren’t,” he muttered. “That oily-voiced creep of a man made it his personal mission to turn me into his prize hog and sell me off. He was doing a disturbingly good job of it,” he added.

Farrah traced her fingers over the five tiny red dots on his belly where the darts hit. “Well, at least you’re out, now. Here,” she pressed both lightsabers into his hands. “I’m not sure I’m ready for these, yet.”

He raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Let’s just say the boss of the place has a bad case of heartburn.”

Kyrren sighed, but the knowledge of what the scum was doing for credits prevented any sorrow for the death. “Let’s get out of here.”

She turned the corner, keeping Kyrren’s waddling form in front of her and in her vision at all times. Dobo and Frez were waiting at the head of the line of prisoners anxious for escape. Some of them turned to look at Kyrren, and their eyes went wide.

Kyrren, on the other hand, closed his eyes and froze.

“What’s wrong?” Farrah asked, instantly at his side, one hand on his shoulder, the other on the side of his stomach.

He turned his head skyward and waited, speaking only after a slow, silent moment. “A Sith is here. For me.”

He pointed a finger at Dobo. “Take Farrah and the prisoners and get out of here. I’ll follow in the hovercar when I’m done and contact you later.”

Dobo Chah nodded, gently taking Farrah’s arm and pulling.

“I’m not leaving you again,” she whispered.

“Don’t worry. I’ll be fine. This is a battle that is mine alone, and I don’t want you getting hurt in it. You’re not ready to fight a Sith yet.”

She nodded, slowly, and followed Dobo and Frez out, along with the dozen half-naked prisoners.

* * *

The protesting lift slowed to a halt, the doors opening to the rooftop dock. He stepped outside, the lift’s suspension making a subtle whoosh of relief. Across the roof, a small craft sat, its vents still pouring out light grey exhaust. Standing in front of it was a lean figure, dressed in a hooded all-black mimicry of traditional Jedi robes.

Kyrren frowned, shifting Farrah’s lightsaber in his left hand slightly to keep it from sight.

“I’m afraid we’re going to have to cancel the collection of my bounty,” he called out.

The Sith took one step forward, igniting his blood-red lightsaber. “No chance. The Sith do not negotiate.”

He remained where he stood. “That is true. You eradicate.”

The Sith snickered, the visible mouth of his face contorting into a sneer. “Your kind is weak and pitiful. Look at yourself, a prime example. I do not even have harem girls with breasts as large as yours.”

He looked down at his chest, the two wide pillows that rested on his belly, with a faint sprinkling of greyed chest hair between them. “Perhaps not, but that has nothing to do with power.”

Seeking a quick victory, the Sith began to move forward, his lightsaber humming through the air. “Then let us put that to the ultimate test!”

Kyrren lit his lightsaber, floating in front of his hands in a cross-body guard and easily parrying the first few strikes. The Sith pivoted, using his superior agility to try and penetrate through Kyrren’s Force-fueled defense screen, and growing more and more frustrated when each of his expertly executed strikes was deflected almost as soon as they began with Kyrren’s unnatural rotations of the blade and detached changes of attack position.

Sensing direct blade-to-blade combat as being all-but futile, the Sith changed tactics, feinting to bring Kyrren’s blade out wide and lunging knee-first at Kyrren’s groin. What would normally be a debilitating blow at best was thwarted by his own girth; rather than impacting straight into the sensitive groin area, the Sith’s knee instead collided with the apron of his massive belly. Instead, the attack had little effect other than knocking some of the breath out of the Jedi.

The Sith was visibly surprised by his sneak attack’s failure. Kyrren ducked his shoulder down for his own physical retaliation, quickly gathering the Force around him and jumping, long and low, the entire two hundred and nine kilos of his body mass focused into a shoulder crashing into the Sith’s rib cage. The Sith landed several meters away on the tarmac, scrambling to his feet. Kyrren knew from the impact that he had cracked at least two ribs and broken one; the pain had to have been excruciating.

Kyrren shrugged when the Sith brought his lightsaber up and rushed back into the fray. He directed his own blade easily, using pivots and changes in the hilt’s position to keep the Sith off-guard with movements that no normally-jointed human could do. The Sith stepped back, eyes glowering, and growled.

“Even your power is insignificant compared to the dark side!”

Kyrren groaned. If I hear that mantra one more time…

The Sith swung again, blocking Kyrren’s blade and reaching a palm up, fingers curled into gnarled hooks. Anticipating what was to come, he let Farrah’s lightsaber loose, brought it up spinning and ignited it. A microsecond later, a hundred arcs of blue energy burst from the Sith’s fingertips, the energy absorbed by the second twirling lightsaber.

Then Kyrren saw it; the eyes of the Sith widen in panic. It wasn’t the first time he’d seen it, quite the opposite, really. During the Mandalorian Wars, he had fought with innumerable saber-wielding Sith, and every single one of them had been thrown off by his telekinetic fighting style with one blade. He had been bested, once, in a duel with a single blade; once he ignited his second lightsaber, however, it was always a complete, systematic destruction of his opponents.

The Sith stumbled back, avoiding the backlash of the blocked Force lightning and bringing his lightsaber down in a defensive stance he was obviously not comfortable with.

Kyrren twirled his lightsabers in a crisscross pattern in front of him quickly, the blue trails from his blade and the green trails from Farrah’s forming a bright double-helix of death. He advanced on the Sith, letting the Force flow through him and control his body. When the Sith leapt forward, parrying his strikes and holding his ground, he didn’t worry.

He sped up the whirling of the lightsabers.

The Sith’s brow beaded with sweat, his parries coming with less and less space between himself and the blade. He began to retreat, the speed of his parries finally succumbing to the cracked and broken ribs in his chest. And then, there was an opening.

Without pausing to even consider allowing the Sith to live, he spun Farrah’s blade through the Sith’s wrist, who howled in pain, his lightsaber extinguishing and falling to the ground with his hand. Before the scream had ended, Kyrren thrust his own blade into the unarmed Sith’s chest, raking it down several centimeters to sear a chasm clear from his lungs to his intestines before pulling out.

The Sith’s eyes rolled back into his head, and he crumpled to the deck.

Kyrren extinguished his lightsabers, returning them to be held in his hands. He stood, his chest heaving, a light sheen of sweat dampening his forehead, his lip curled.

“And your power,” he said to no one in particular, “is insignificant to that of a fat Jedi.”

(to be continued)
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Old 11-17-2007, 11:41 AM   #18
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Setting used without permission. Star Wars Universe copyright George Lucas. Knights of the Old Republic II: The Sith Lords copyright LucasArts and BioWare. All planet names are the intellectual property of George Lucas and Lucas Books. To my knowledge, at the time of this posting, the characters Kyrren Mak, Farrah, Dobo Chah, Frez, Benklous, Yilts, butter nibs, the knn’la berry, NutraPaste, Ruuro Butani, and the Illicit Investment are my own unique creations.
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Old 11-18-2007, 05:57 PM   #19
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Great work once again, good to see that the Fat Jedi has started to rub off on Farrah. Do you think your characters will ever meet up with the Exile?
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Old 11-18-2007, 10:34 PM   #20
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awesome just awesome! the first little bit was a bit jumpy, but then the story really picks up again! thank you so much!
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Old 11-19-2007, 12:18 AM   #21
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Great work once again, good to see that the Fat Jedi has started to rub off on Farrah. Do you think your characters will ever meet up with the Exile?
A quadzillion points to the first person to actually know where the setting lies!!!!

And, for the record, the Exile will be noted in the story.. although, to what degree, that is yet to be seen.

As a writer, it's quite funny how the characters seem to take the reins.. I originally meant this to be a short story (i.e. one to two parts), but they seemed to have a different idea. Though the events of the story do seem to be intertwining, don't they?

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Old 11-19-2007, 12:35 AM   #22
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A quadzillion points to the first person to actually know where the setting lies!!!!

And, for the record, the Exile will be noted in the story.. although, to what degree, that is yet to be seen.

As a writer, it's quite funny how the characters seem to take the reins.. I originally meant this to be a short story (i.e. one to two parts), but they seemed to have a different idea. Though the events of the story do seem to be intertwining, don't they?

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Haha, you have no idea how many times I played KOTOR II Considering how huge the universe you're playing in is, this story could go on forever in some form or another. Maybe you should bring Jacen in to the storyline, too, and why not explain what happened to Revan while you're at it But seriously, good work on the writing.
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Old 11-19-2007, 01:36 AM   #23
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Haha, you have no idea how many times I played KOTOR II Considering how huge the universe you're playing in is, this story could go on forever in some form or another. Maybe you should bring Jacen in to the storyline, too, and why not explain what happened to Revan while you're at it But seriously, good work on the writing.
Bah-humpf! Jacen isn't for a number of years and you know it!

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Old 11-19-2007, 09:12 AM   #24
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Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!Observer has a ton of rep. Literally. As in over 2000!
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Well, this is cyberspace.

We can wait a number of years as long as there are plenty of episodes as good as those so far to fill in the difference!

As one who was already older when Gene Roddenberry launched the Enterprise I've never traveled the Star Wars universe - spent an hour last night with the legend of The Exile and have to agree: this story has the legs to go on for a looong time.

May the force be with you
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Old 11-19-2007, 03:22 PM   #25
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Once again, fantastic writing. I've been loving every word of this story, and I look forward to seeing where it goes from here.
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